I had an early trip to the small country (it gets smaller as I get bigger although I know at some point the reverse will be true). I checked my phone before entering the house and saw the old man holding an empty bottle - neither of us had any messages. We talked softly about the bars we saw the world through before I went out and scattered old pictures on the recently dug ground: once covered with soil new images will issue forth. I consoled myself with this thought as the red bus alligator jaws snapped shut and the blind guitarist by the road side checked his cap for coins. I said hello to people I often think I know on the long journey home; measuring the radius of the big pond by the crossroads with my index finger and thumb as the probable descendants of Iron Age hill farmers walked by.